One Hundred Percent Mine
by Mandelene
Summary: It's another adventurous day for England and his little colony, America. There are snowmen, natives, malaises, green buttons and evil, English doctors in this fluffy tale. It's at times like these that England must play the hero, and honestly, he doesn't really mind.


I still have some final exams next week, but I'm shielded from their evil aura due to this fluff that I've been writing. :) I may be a melodramatic fifteen year old, but everyone needs some fluff in their lives. I hope this dose helps with any deficiencies you may have. ;) Enjoy and please leave a review!

* * *

"Dear, lord! Look at this room, America! It's an absolute pigsty! How can you possibly live like this?" England fumed, pacing about the room.

America couldn't suppress the telltale feelings of guilt bubbling in his stomach. His older brother had been gone for nearly half a year, and upon his return, all he had done thus far was shout at America's incompetence. He tried not to sulk, assuring himself that England's anger wasn't meant to be directed exactly at him. Perhaps, things were a little tense in the sovereign nation. America blamed France; that man had always made England's blood pressure skyrocket, and the little colony usually received the short end of the stick where those matters were concerned.

"Sorry, Iggy," America frowned, digging the tips of his toes into the soft carpeting of the room. "Can we go now?"

"You shouldn't be allowed to go out anywhere as a punishment," England retorted, sorting through a pile of disheveled shirts.

America's frown deepened, but he wisely kept quiet. He knew better than to talk back to England when he was in such a foul mood. It took a few long and grueling moments for England to calm down again, but when he did, he pulled out a fluffy sweatshirt from America's dresser and laid it out on the bed, ordering him to put it on.

"It's bloody frigid today thanks to winter creeping up on us early this year. I don't want you catching a cold," he explained, shuffling through more drawers to find a suitable hat, scarf, and coat for his little colony.

America pouted. "I don't want to wear all of this, and besides, you never wear a hat!"

England's previous short temper seemed to have dissipated. He chuckled and smiled softly as he aided America in putting his sweatshirt on. The boy had been attacking the sleeves in a frenzy, trying to get his arms to poke through the openings. England guided America's arms through the appropriate sleeves and pulled the rest of the sweatshirt over the boy's head.

"I am an adult, therefore I am less susceptible to disease. You however, my little colony, are a magnet and target for ailments. And as your elder brother, it is my responsibility to eradicate these monstrosities we call bacteria from your proximity," England elaborated with the soft smile that America had grown accustomed to.

The child giggled at England's word choice as his brother worked on snuggly securing a scarf around his neck.

America loosened the scarf considerably when England was done, still grumpy at the prospect of having to bundle up so warmly.

"Oi," England chided. "Don't touch my masterpiece, lad."

America grumbled, but tightened the scarf around his neck again while England helped him button up his coat.

He observed silently as England pulled on his own boots, coat and scarf. Then, England took his hand and said sternly, "You are to stay within my field of view at all times during this trip. Do you understand me? The natives have been extremely hostile as of late."

America nodded sharply in comprehension. "Why don't the natives like you, Iggy?"

England sighed wearily. "It's difficult to explain, America. You're too young to understand these disputes over land and resources, but one day, when you're older, I'll explain in detail. For now, just trust your older brother to keep you safe, okay?"

America grinned, satisfied with the answer for the time being. "Okay, Iggy! _Now_ can we go?"

England chuckled, "Yes, poppet, we can go."

The pair were scheduled to continue their annual tradition of building a snowman in the front yard, but before that, they would head to the marketplace to purchase some items that they would need to create their snowman. America was free to choose whatever foods he desired to create an appropriate nose, smile, some eyes, etc.

And so, they set off into the winter-wonderland before them. The settlement was buzzing with excitement over the first snowfall of the season, while simultaneously being anxious over whether or not their resources would last before the next shipment would be able to arrive.

America rushed toward each of the different stands laid out. He picked out a bright orange carrot, some blackberries and a plethora of multi-colored buttons that looked promising enough to be placed on this year's snowman. He beamed with glee as he held out his findings to England, who paid for the items. America placed his treasures into a brown paper bag and trudged through the snow with England all the way back home. Upon their arrival, the colony rushed into the house and returned with pairs of gloves for both himself and his brother, an old scarf that England had taken out of the closet last night, and a hat that America had outgrown.

England smiled. "Is that everything?"

America nodded vigorously and set about building the base for the snowman. He fell to his knees and dug his gloved hands into the fresh, soft snow, shoveling bunches of it onto the designated area where the pair had chosen to place the snowman.

England happily joined in on the building effort. He proved to be much more efficient at gathering the snow compared to America, but the little boy did not seem to mind that his brother was making most of the base. Still, England allowed America to finish the base while he worked on rolling up a giant snowball to make the midsection. Eventually, they stuck the two pieces on top of each other and worked on forming the head, but America kept getting distracted and set about making snow angels while England did all of the harder work. The colony preferred the decorating process to the actual building process.

England let out a tired huff as he brushed the snow off of his gloves and turned to his younger brother. "America, the head is finished, no thanks to you. I guess you don't want to decorate it any-"

America sprung into action once more, snatching the brown paper bag from the snow just a few feet away from where he had been lounging. He worked on the smile first, using the buttons to create the curved lips while England cut off the green end of the carrot with a knife so that it could fit into the snow better.

America took the modified carrot from his brother and stuck it in the center of the snowman's face, the pointy end protruding from the snow.

He set about making the eyes as England tied the old scarf around the snowman's neck, but gave a loud gasp as he scrambled through the contents of the bag.

"Where are the green buttons for the eyes?" America asked.

England frowned. "They're not in the bag?"

America shook his head, pouting.

"Let me see," England replied, taking the bag from his colony. He gave a sigh before saying, "I guess we'll have to improvise."

"No," America retorted discontentedly. "We have to give him green eyes! Last year they were blue, and now they have to be green!"

"America, I'm really sorry. They must have been misplaced along the way," England said rationally, placing a hand on the colony's shoulder. "We have some extra blackberries. We can use them for the eyes."

"No!" America shouted, resolute.

England wracked his mind for another solution. "We can go back to the market and buy some more buttons."

"No, it's too far! I don't want to walk all the way back!" America protested. "And I don't want to use the stupid blackberries!"

England could sense a temper tantrum coming on from his little colony.

"Watch your tongue. You are _not _to use that tone with me. Settle down," England admonished firmly.

Tears swelled in America's sapphire eyes as they gazed into the stern emerald ones. Then, without warning, he broke out into a fit of wails, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks.

England furrowed. Normally, there was some sort of physical form of defiance and another stern warning from England before the boy cried. It was unusual for him to get so worked up over a simple pair of green buttons.

"My, my, we're very fussy today, aren't we?" England tsked, getting down on his knees. He took off his gloves and brushed away America's hot tears with his thumbs.

"Why are we so grumpy today, America?" England asked the colony curiously. He should have suspected something was up when America was fighting with his sweatshirt and scarf this morning. Maybe England's foul mood was beginning to brush off on him.

"I don't know," America sobbed, hiccupping into England's shoulder.

"Hmm, don't cry, lad. You'll just give yourself a headache."

"I don't care," America murmured miserably.

"Hmm," England repeated, deep in thought. "Well, then. Are we going to be civil now, or should we put off our snowman construction until tomorrow?"

America lifted his head from England's shoulder, eyes puffy and bloodshot. England knew there was something greater going on than the boy was voicing. Still, America stood up straight and stated, "I want to finish it."

"Very well," England replied, placing the snowman's hat on while America stuck the blackberries on the face as makeshift eyes.

"If you'd like, we can paint the berries green, later," England compromised, knowing that this snowman was something very important to America. It would remain here for the rest of the winter, even when England would have to leave the colonies. It would continue to be a constant reminder of the time the two brothers had spent together, which was why America always seemed to have such a deep need to make it flawless.

"Right then, so what shall we name him?" England asked.

America always seemed to have such a wide imagination for names. He tended to use the names of some of the natives, finding it fascinating how different their names were from that of the names given in England. Thus, last year's snowman was called "Onatah", which, according to America, meant "earth" in one of the natives' languages.

America rubbed his droopy eyes for a moment and sniffled. "I want to name him Arthur."

England smiled knowingly. The colony wanted to use his brother's human name. "Okay, poppet. From this day forth, he shall be known as Arthur the Snowman."

America forced a small smile.

"You don't seem very pleased. What's wrong?" England interrogated worriedly.

"I don't know," America whispered, fresh tears springing into those beautiful, oceanic eyes.

"What do you mean? Obviously, something is troubling you," England urged.

"I just feel sad and angry for no reason, and I'm tired, Iggy. Super tired, but I don't wanna go to sleep yet cause it's still too early," America responded dully, plopping down onto the snow.

Tired and grouchy. Did America simply need a nap? Had he stayed up too late? No, England had shooed him off to bed rather early last night, so that couldn't be it. So, why was he so weary?

Then, it hit England like a ton of bricks. He should've noticed sooner. He was America's older brother for goodness sake, he should've sensed this.

"Come here, lad." England ordered. "I'm not upset with you," he assured, stretching his hand out for America to take.

Reluctantly, the boy grasped his hand, stepping through the snow and over to his older brother.

England bent over and took the colony into his arms, wiping away any stray tears on the boy's face.

America sighed contentedly and snuggled his head into the warmth of England's coat-clad chest.

England peered into his eyes critically, then said, "Lift your head up for a second."

America did as he was told, blinking blearily at England. The nation laid a hand across his colony's forehead, pushing stray hairs out of the way.

"Just as I feared," England sighed, kissing the boy's forehead. "I think you've had enough adventure for one day."

"Hmm?" America mumbled, surprised to see that England was heading back to the front door of the house with him.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, clutching the fabric of England's coat.

"You have a knack for being punctual don't you, America? I'm putting you to bed, of course. Congratulations, you've caught the first strain of the flu of the season. You're feverish, which is why you were such a grouch today." England announced with a grunt as he carried the colony upstairs. The warmth of the house consumed them both.

"But you were mean to me this morning. Are you sick too, then?" America wondered aloud.

England chuckled. "No, lad, I'm afraid that's just my natural predisposition. I'm a big grump at heart."

America giggled and shook his head. "No, you're not, silly. You just worry too much; that's why you get so angry."

England scoffed and placed America on his bed. "Hush, now. "

Hastily and with an air of expertise, England took off America's soggy boots and placed them in the corner. He checked America's socks to make sure they were dry, and then removed the boy's hat, scarf, and coat, putting them away neatly. He removed his own boots to refrain from tracking any left over snow around the house, and shrugged out of his coat and scarf.

America was as irritable as ever after having to cut their playing short. So, England would have to come up with a way to keep both of their tempers in check during the conquest of this new obstacle that they had been presented with.

England left the room to stow away his own winter articles and then returned with a thermometer, a bottle of medicine, and a cool washcloth. He took a seat in the rickety chair by America's bed while America sat patiently on the bed, facing England expectantly.

"Never fear, Dr. England is taking house calls today. What seems to be the problem Mr. America?" England asked with a cordial smile, tickling America's sock-covered foot.

America laughed. "Stop it!"

"Hmm, reflexes seem normal," England noted jokingly with a serious tone.

America grinned. "I think I have a frog in my throat, doctor."

England quirked an eyebrow. "A frog in your throat? How so?"

"Well, I can feel it in my throat; it croaks sometimes," America stated matter-of-factly.

"You don't say? Hmm. How long has this persisted for?" England asked, rubbing his chin in mock distress.

"Since last night," America replied.

"I best have a look then," England told the colony. "Say 'ahh'," he ordered.

"Ahhhh," America said exaggeratedly.

"Ah, yes. It seems you _do _have a frog in your throat, America," England validated seriously.

America grew slightly concerned; he couldn't tell if England was joking anymore.

"Did you see it?" America queried upon closing his mouth.

"See it? It blinked right at me! I fear we may have to operate," England said with an extremely straight-face.

"What?" America squawked, grabbing at his throat and backing away from England. He seemed genuinely horrified. "Stop playing around, Iggy."

"Who is this 'Iggy', you speak of?"

"Englaaaand!" America whined, fear evident in his eyes.

"Mwah ha ha ha!" England laughed evilly and jumped at America, who cowered in the other direction.

England laughed genuinely this time, kissing America's head. "There most certainly is _not_ a frog in your throat, love."

It was America's turn to laugh. He turned to face England, who was now sitting next to him on the bed.

"You scared me for a minute," America admitted.

"Well, you lied to the doctor, you cheeky brat," England teased. "Now, enough fooling around. I won't point any fingers, but someone here needs to have their temperature taken."

"I guess that means you," America grinned slyly.

"You're purposely being a handful today, aren't you?" England accused.

America pouted, but willingly took the thermometer from England and placed it under his tongue. He laid back against the pillows while England brushed the hair out of his face and placed the cool washcloth on his forehead. He took the thermometer away from America a few minutes later.

England clicked his tongue in disapproval. "38.3. You are to stay in bed until I tell you otherwise. Change into something more comfortable while I make some tea."

"More tea?" America groaned.

"That's just the fever talking," England dismissed him, ignoring the comment with a smirk. He returned shortly, and saw that America was dressed in a plaid nightshirt and snuggled into his bedcovers, nibbling on the end of his thumb.

"It looks like I'm just going to have to cut your thumb off," England said with a feigned sigh.

America's blue eyes went wide as he pulled his thumb away from his mouth and hid it under the sheets. England smiled and placed America's tea on the nightstand for it to cool.

"How are we feeling, sir?" England asked absently.

"A hundred percent better, and ready to go downstairs to play some chess with big brother, Iggy," America replied with an innocent, toothy smile.

"Oh, really? Okay then, Mr. One Hundred Percent Better, let's see what Dr. England thinks." England turned his back to America and pretended to consult with someone. He turned back around seconds later. "He says, 'Most certainly and unequivocally, no'."

"That's not fair!" America protested, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

"I know, but those are the doctor's orders, and obviously he knows better than either of us."

"But you _are_ the doctor!" America squeaked.

England feigned a gasp. "How could you say such a thing?"

America giggled and shook his head. "You're so mean, Iggy."

"I'm your brother, it's in the job description to be evil towards little colonies like yourself," England explained with a shrug. "In fact, the doctor just whispered in my ear that it's time for Mr. One Hundred Percent Better to take a nap."

"A nap? I'm not a baby anymore!"

England chuckled. "Of course not. You're such an old man. I've no idea what has gotten into that doctor's head as of late. I'll have to consult with him about his treatment methods later. _However_, until then, you are to do as he says for optimum results."

America grumbled under his breath.

"Sleep tight, love. I'll be in to check on you periodically. The door will be open, so if you need anything, just give me a call, but you are _not _allowed to get out of bed without a very plausible reason."

America nodded sleepily, his eyes already drooping as England closed the curtains.

* * *

He slept longer than he had expected to. He woke up nearly two hours later with no sign of England anywhere. He scrubbed at his eyes and stood up slowly, wobbling slightly, and made his way to the bathroom where he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look too ill, but fever was evident in his features. His eyes stared dully back at him, and America silently wished he weren't feeling so crummy so that he would be able to spend what little time he and England had left together in a more productive way.

He left the bathroom, only to be caught by England coming up the stairs.

"Ah, Mr. One Hundred Percent Better is up. Are we one hundred percent better, yet?" England continued his little joke.

America grimaced. "No."

"Then why, is Mr. One Hundred Percent Better out of bed? Why is he breaking the doctor's orders? Didn't we agree that the doctor knows best?" England asked rhetorically, scooping America into his arms and carrying him back to bed.

"I thought you said the doctor was nuts?" America reminded.

"You doubt the doctor's abilities?" England's eyes widened in shock.

America giggled at his brother's facial expression. "Maybe."

England dropped America onto his bed and tickled his stomach before pulling the covers back up to the little boy's neck.

"I see you drank at least some of the tea," England noted with his normal demeanor. "I have some soup for you, and then it's bath time."

"Soup _and_ a bath? Now, I _really_ doubt the doctor." America muttered, taking the bowl of soup that was lying on the nightstand. He took a tentative spoonful under England's watchful eye.

"He's considered to be the best doctor in town with his home remedies," England defended.

"Eh, he's not that special," America joked, nearly choking on his soup at the incredulous face England made.

America finished the soup without any further comments, and England wordlessly cleaned up after him before returning and carrying him into the bathroom.

"I can walk, Iggy," America argued.

"Well, Mr. One Hundred Percent Better, you shouldn't have to walk until you stop looking so peaky," England stated. "Now can I trust you to start taking your bath while I wash the dishes? I'll be back to supervise in fifteen minutes. The doctor is still on his supper break and won't be back for a while either."

America groaned as England turned on the bath water. "I'll be fine, Iggy."

"Okay, love," England smiled gently. "Mind that fever of yours and call for me if you need help."

America took his bath without incident, successfully managing to get clean, dry and changed back into a fresh nightshirt by the time England returned.

"My, you're quick. I was going to wash your hair for you," England commented upon arrival.

"All done," America grinned proudly, but slumped slightly from the energy he had exerted while his brother was gone.

"Hmm, back to bed, love." England carried him to bed, yet again, and got him settled down before saying, "Look what I found."

He removed two green buttons from his pocket.

America gasped. "Where'd you find them?"

"They were scattered in the snow out in the front yard because _someone_ wasn't careful when they were carrying the bag back and forth."

America grinned sheepishly. "Mr. Arthur the Snowman is going to be perfect now."

England ruffled America's hair. "He sure is."

"Thanks for everything, Iggy."

"You're very welcome, Mr. One Hundred Percent Better."

"Stop calling me that." America pouted. "Where's the 'doctor'?"

"He gave me orders on how to properly care for you and then I kicked him out. He threatened to take you away from me."

America feigned another gasp.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to sod off because Mr. One Hundred Percent Better is one hundred percent mine."

America giggled, snuggling into the side of England's chest from where the nation sat adjacently. "Really?"

"Really," England responded, kissing America's forehead once more. "Now get some rest, love. We still have a snowman to fix when you recover."

"Okay, but if I'm one hundred percent yours then you're one hundred percent mine." America murmured lethargically.

England dipped his head with an involuntary smile as the shimmering moonlight beamed over his face.

For years to come, he would feel the constant pain of the merciless crevice in his heart, reminding him that part of his one hundred percent had been lost.


End file.
